The Way of Kings Prime

by Brandon Sanderson

  They waited quietly as a group of attendants rushed forward and constructed a sitting platform amidst the rockbuds. Shinri patted her horse's neck fondly, then allowed an attendant to help her down. The petite white mare had given her a pleasant ride, even if a piece of her did wish that she’d been allowed to ride Lord Dalenar’s massive war charger instead. The men waited respectfully as Jasnah and Shinri seated themselves before dismounting.

  The mat was stiffly plush, seated on wooden supports to be just above the general height of the leaves and flowers. It was far too comfortable, but Shinri was accustomed to such things. Lord Dalenar whipped back his deep blue cloak and seated himself across from Jasnah, then the three younger men joined them.

  “We spend two years wishing for the comforts of home,” the young Lord Aredor quipped as he sat, “and as soon as we get here, we can’t wait to leave those comforts behind so we can take our meals out on the hillsides.”

  Lord Dalenar grunted softly, smiling at the irony.

  “The scenery is a bit more agreeable here than it was in Prallah, Lord Aredor,” Shinri noted as the servants began bringing them pre-meal tea. “There are a few more flowers in the lait than there were on the highlands.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Aredor said with a quick smile. “It seems we carried the two fairest flowers of all in our company the entire time.”

  Shinri did him the honor of blushing, but Jasnah just snorted quietly. They both knew Aredor meant nothing by the comment. Dalenar’s heir was nothing if not an incorrigible flirt, and it was well-known in court that he was far from interested in seeking a permanent match. There had been a time, when she was very young, that Shinri had felt something of a girlish crush on his older brother, the now-dead Sheneres, but she had never given Aredor much more than passing thoughts. Still, he would make a wonderful political match—and one could do far worse than marrying into Lord Dalenar’s family.

  The thought immediately made her feel guilty. Tethren isn’t a few weeks dead and already you’re thinking of your next match?

  Shinri accepted her tea from a servant, the motion causing her to turn and catch Dalenar’s final son, Renarin, watching her with those eerie eyes of his. He immediately turned away, but Shinri couldn’t help shivering. The boy was just so . . . odd. Unlike most men, his expressions were completely unreadable, and his eyes often seemed distant—as if he were considering things far beyond the capabilities of normal people.

  Dalenar accepted his own tea—the liquid steaming and in a mug after the masculine fashion. He took a drink, then turned his eyes over the softly wafting sea of leaves and flowers around them. “It feels strange, doesn’t it?” he wondered. “Sitting here mildly, not wondering about the next battle or about supply lines and gemstone reserves?”

  “Our battles are hardly finished, uncle,” Jasnah said. “Sometimes I wonder if the worst isn’t yet to come.”

  Lord Dalenar raised an eyebrow, but Aredor just smirked. “My dear cousin,” the boy noted, “don’t you always think the worst is yet to come?”

  Jasnah ignored him. “The queen’s recent activity in court is a cause for apprehension,” she said.

  “I’m not sure, Jasnah,” Dalenar said. “I was wary of her before, when we were in Prallah, but I have been pleased by the devotion she now shows the king. We always worried that she would never grow to fulfil her role as Elhokar’s wife. Perhaps we should be heartened by her newfound interest in politics.”

  “Not if she is going about things the wrong way,” Jasnah said. “Mock my sensitivities if you must, Aredor, but it must be said that the woman is not trustworthy.”

  “She is our queen,” Dalenar said, hinting that the conversation bordered on disrespect.

  Jasnah waved her hand dismissively. “I care nothing for pleasantries of courtly language right now, Uncle,” she said. “I care about keeping my brother’s throne secure. If this woman cannot do that, then someone else needs to look after him.”

  Dalenar sat quietly for a moment, holding his bronze mug. “You need to let him go sometime, Jasnah,” he said quietly. “Eventually you’ll have to move on, marry, and let the boy’s wife care for him. As I said, she does seem to have genuine affection for Elhokar, and she seems to take her duties seriously now. She might see you as a threat to her power—but then, she probably has good reason to do so.”

  Jasnah bristled slightly, but then she relaxed. “I know, Uncle,” she finally agreed. “But I can’t let him go yet. Things are too dangerous. Prallah was long and tiring, but there was never any real worry that we would lose the campaign. What looms over us now could destroy Alethkar.”

  The conversation fell still, the only sounds those of servants preparing their meal in the background.

  “You mean civil war,” the young boy Merin offered. “You’re worried about the other Parshen, Jezenrosh.”

  Shinri eyed the boy. She had assumed he would be too intimidated to offer anything during the conversation, but apparently he was a bit more brazen than she thought. He pulled a Shardbearer off of his horse, she reminded herself. He rescued the king when all of the other soldiers were running. Those are not the actions of a coward.

  Still, he probably shouldn’t have spoken. Despite his Shardblade, Merin was still a youth. This conversation was between Dalenar and Jasnah, with Aredor’s council being suffered because he was a full adult. Merin might be brave, but he obviously still had little understanding of courtly etiquette.

  “I doubt it will be anything that dramatic,” Jasnah said. “But it doesn’t take a war to destroy the soul of a kingdom. Jezenrosh is poisoning the nobility against my brother, and without my connections in court I cannot determine his level of success. I worry he will divide the people against their king.”

  “You can’t think that he wants the throne for himself,” Aredor said.

  “I don’t know,” Jasnah said. For a moment, Shinri thought she might reveal what Balenmar had said about the faceless Shardbearer, but Jasnah kept these speculations to herself. “The man is far too solitary—no one knows what he wants.”

  “I got to know him a little bit during the war,” Aredor said. “I don’t know, Jasnah. He likes to complain, but I don’t think he’d try and overthrow the king.”

  “Do you know what happened?” Jasnah asked. “That night before Jezenrosh left the war? Do you know what he and my brother argued about?”

  Aredor paused, then shook his head. “No.”

  Dalenar shook his head as well. “I asked Elhokar, but he didn’t wish to speak of it . . . and you know that boy’s temper.” He sighed, shaking his head. “You’re right, Jasnah. The queen could have picked a better time to begin asserting herself, eh?”

  “Definitely,” Jasnah replied. “She’s locked me out of nearly every source of courtly information. To be honest, Uncle, I don’t share your confidence that she has my brother’s interests in her heart. I’ve been studying the kingdom’s expense ledgers recently.”

  Dalenar raised an eyebrow. “How did you talk her into letting you see them?”

  Jasnah just smiled. “Anyway, the queen has made some very strange expenditures during our absence. She’s unduly interested in the emerald trade, for one thing. In addition, I’m convinced she’s been intentionally aggravating Jezenrosh and his allies. She’s learned to manipulate the royal funds, tariffs, and work projects far too well. She’s brought several houses to near-ruin, and, given time, she could probably do the same to Jezenrosh himself.”

  Dalenar accepted this information with the solemnity it demanded. He had a clever mind for politics, despite being a man, and could see the shadowed implications of Jasnah’s statement. Unfortunately, shadows were all they had. If the queen really were provoking Jezenrosh, what did it mean? Was she foolishly snapping at the man she saw as her husband’s enemy? That would be the act of an inexperienced woman who thought herself doing what her station demanded, and it seemed to fit. Yet, the queen’s recent political insight made one wonder if she had mor
e subtle motivations.

  Shinri picked at the intricate sitting cloth as she sat, pulling a string free and marring its pattern, destroying its arrogant perfection. What was the queen’s pattern? This one question had monopolized Jasnah’s worries over the last few weeks, and therefore had done the same to Shinri. She and her mistress had discussed the question at length—it wasn’t Shinri’s place to speak now, while Jasnah conferred with Dalenar, but she had given her opinions before. The queen was not to be trusted, perhaps, but Shinri saw her as Dalenar did—not vengeful or evil, but simply as a woman trying to secure her power against the domineering threat of the great Lady Jasnah. It was inconvenient that her flexing should come now, when Jezenrosh threatened, but she was hardly worth the concern Jasnah gave her.

  Eyes were on Shinri. She didn’t look up, but she knew that Renarin was watching her again. What is wrong with that boy? she thought uncomfortably.

  “But,” Jasnah suddenly declared, “I bore you with female politics. Tell me of your progress, Lord Dalenar. What have you discovered about the attack in Prallah?”

  “Blessed little,” Dalenar replied. “That kingdom would have collapsed soon with or without our help. The southern and eastern borders are still chaos—not helped by the king’s instance on withdrawing the greater portion of our troops. I agree that the men need rest—many of them are rural volunteers who need to get back to their crops—but he should leave a larger portion of the regulars in Prallah to secure the border. I . . .”

  Dalenar trailed off as a messenger bearing Elhokar’s sunburst khol glyph approached. The Parshen waved him forward, but the messenger didn’t approach Dalenar, instead giving Jasnah a whispered message. Shinri was close enough to catch a few words—one of which sounded a lot like ‘madman.’

  “What is it?” Dalenar asked as Jasnah waved the messenger away.

  “A very large annoyance,” Jasnah said with a displeased frown. “One my brother is amused to let me keep oath regarding.”

  Dalenar raised an eyebrow.

  “The madman who interrupted our return feast,” Jasnah explained. “He has an undeniable talent for creating disturbances, and for pulling me away from important conferences. There is still much to discuss.” She paused, turning an eye toward Shinri.

  The look was obvious. Kemnar was out searching his ‘sources’ for information about Jezenrosh, and Nelshenden was guarding Jasnah’s mother. Assuming that Jasnah wished to remain in Kholinar, that only left one person to go in her place.

  “You want me to take care of it, my lady?” Shinri asked.

  “Apparently he’s taken to preaching in the market square,” Jasnah said. “Take some of my guards and see if you can’t make him go back to his monastery peacefully. If you have any problems, send me a messenger.”

  Shinri nodded, rising and waving a servant to bring her horse.

  “Aredor, Merin, accompany her,” Dalenar ordered. “See that the Lady Shinri comes to no harm.”

  Shinri flushed. “That’s hardly necessary, my lord.”

  “I insist,” Dalenar asserted, and there was nothing left to say. One did not argue with Dalenar Kholin.

  “So, it’s just one man?” the boy, Merin, asked. “The king sent a messenger all the way to Kholinar expecting Lady Jasnah to return to the capital and deal with a single crazy man? Isn’t that a little frivolous?”

  Shinri glanced through the curtains to where Merin and Aredor walked beside her litter. The young Shardbearer spoke bluntly, displaying his obvious lack of understanding. While Dalenar and Jasnah might be able to question the king’s motives, it was not for a simple boy like Merin to do likewise.

  Aredor, unfortunately, was little better. He didn’t chastise Merin, or even pull the boy aside to explain his error. Dalenar’s second son had never needed to pay much attention to what should and shouldn’t be said—indeed, the affable man probably wouldn’t have cared anyway. Regardless, his station as Dalenar’s heir made him put him above most courtgoers.

  “The king is a busy man,” Shinri said simply.

  “Yes, but surely he could have sent some soldiers to deal with the disturbance,” Merin said with a frown. “I mean, sending for Jasnah took just as much effort, right? And now the problem continues while we travel through the Oathgate and down into the city.”

  Shinri sighed quietly. She couldn’t, of course, explain that the move had been done to intentionally annoy Jasnah. Though the king probably didn’t understand most of the implications of Jasnah’s move during the feast, he was smart enough to understand that he had been manipulated. He had wanted to execute the madman, and Jasnah had diverted him. Though Elhokar could always pass off his forbearance by claiming he was simply suffering his sister, King Elhokar could be a spiteful man. He had said that the madman was Jasnah’s responsibility. He would make certain to remind her of the foolishness of her decision.

  When Shinri didn’t respond, Merin looked to Aredor for an explanation, but Dalenar’s heir simply shrugged. Merin frowned. He was a brooding, serious-eyed boy—not at all what she would have expected from a rural citizen. He carried his Shardblade with a reverence that bespoke an awareness of his high calling, even if he didn’t yet understand all of its implications. He held the Blade up, resting it on his shoulder as he walked, the blade itself—and any budding designs it held—masked by his metal practice sheath.

  “That cloak doesn’t fit you,” Shinri noted curiously.

  Merin looked up, then flushed slightly. He wore blue and white nobleman’s seasilks, modest in coloring and embroidery. The only striking article in the ensemble was the rich blue cloak, deep in color and emblazoned with Dalenar’s glyph—a sharp-lined khol set in the shape of a shield. The cloak, however, was too broad for Merin. The length had been hemmed, and while it didn’t fit poorly, it obviously hadn’t been originally tailored for him.

  Aredor laughed at her comment. “I told you it was noticeable,” the older boy said. “I keep telling him he should have another one tailored.”

  “Lord Dalenar gave this one to me,” Merin said simply.

  “In a symbolic gesture, Merin,” Aredor explained. “You don’t actually have to wear the cloak, especially not everywhere you go. Besides, it’s a cold-weather cloak, meant to be worn in the highlands. It’s far too thick to be comfortable here in the lait.”

  Merin shrugged. “It feels fine to me.”

  Shinri smiled. Men’s emotions were so obvious. There was a resolve in Merin’s eyes, one that hinted that he would wear the cloak no matter how hot it became. The garment was important to Merin, probably because Dalenar had given it to him. There was a simple honesty to the action—a firmness. No wonder Dalenar likes the boy, Shinri thought. The two are remarkably similar, considering their backgrounds.

  The scenery outside slowly changed from rich houses into more mundane shops. Though the streets in Ral Eram were never empty, they were even busier here, and her litter-bearers had to slow to make their way through the traffic. People gave both litter and Shardbearers moderate space, however, so the movement wasn’t difficult. Shinri picked idly at the threads in her litter curtains—she had quite nearly removed the golden embroidery from one entire section before they arrived at the specified location.

  And there he was. He stood on one of the sculpted square boulders that marked the corner of the intersection. Shinri’s litter bearers stopped, but she didn’t knock for them to put her down, instead enjoying her vantage as she looked over the crowd toward the madman. Not that she really needed the view—his voice was audible even over the mumblings of the market-goers.

  He shouted brazenly, standing with a self-assurance few sane men could boast. He wore the same simple clothing as before, in the library, but he displayed none of his earlier tranquillity. He bellowed warnings relating to the coming of the Return and the danger of the Stormshades. He didn’t break or pause in his announcements, regardless of hecklers. He spoke with passion and . . . a sense of authenticity.

  Shinri smile
d despite herself. Here was the ultimate pebble thrown on a polished floor, the epitome of pulled threads and spilled tea. Though the people tried to ignore him—citizens in their browns, merchants in their colors, ladies in their litters, and lords with their retinues—Shinri could see that their efforts were only for show. Here was a man who could not be ignored. He marred their perfection. He was the reflection of a man broken, his mind and decorum lost. And yet, within that fallen state, he was somehow more genuine than they.

  “You know,” Aredor noted with a smile, “if I were to go insane, I hope I’d end up preaching the apocalypse on some street corner like this fellow. If you’re going to go mad, you might as well have some fun with it, eh?”

  Merin snorted. “If you’re going to run off and go mad, kindly do it soon so we can be rid of you.” The young Shardbearer squinted, studying the madman. “Shouldn’t someone be taking care of him? I mean, besides Lady Jasnah?”

  “He’s in the care of the Mercyhome monks,” Shinri explained. “There’s one with him now, sitting by the rock. I . . . think he’s dozing.”

  Merin’s frown deepened.

  “I don’t think they assigned him the most honorable of monks,” Shinri added.

  “The madman really thinks he’s a Herald?” Merin asked, listening to the man’s rantings.

  “Apparently,” Shinri said. “You were at the feast, weren’t you? You heard what he said there.”

  Merin nodded. “It’s just that . . . what he says is blasphemy. We should quiet him before the priests hear. They wouldn’t be pleased.”

  “Priests?” Shinri asked. “You mean the Elinrah?” She snorted. “They’d probably be happy for the publicity.”

  Merin’s expression darkened.

  Careful, Shinri, she reminded herself. This isn’t a normal nobleman. He grew up in a small village. He probably believes Elinrah—he probably doesn’t even know the difference between it and regular Vorinism.